Jeff was tramping the deck, his hands in his coat pockets, waiting for the trumpeter to fling out the two bars of music that would summon him to breakfast. He walked vigorously? drawing in deep breaths of the salt sea air. His thoughts were of Alice Frome. He was a lover, and in his imagination she embodied all things beautiful. Her charm flowed through him, pierced him with delight. When he heard music his mind flew to her. It voiced the rhythm of her motions and the sound of her warm laughter. The sunshine but reflected the golden gleams of light in her wavy hair.
As he swung round the smoking saloon Jeff came face to face with Alice. He turned and caught step with her. The coat she wore came to her ankles, but it could not conceal her light, strong tread nor the long lines of the figure that gave her the grace of a captured wood nymph.
“Only five hundred miles from Verden. By night we ought to be in wireless communication,” he suggested.
Her glance flashed at him. “You'll be glad to get home.”
“I will and I won't. There's work for me to do there. But it's the first real vacation I ever had in my life that lasted over a week. You can't think how I've enjoyed it.”
“So have I. More than anything I can remember.” They stopped to look at a steamer which lay low on the distant horizon line. After they had fallen into step again she continued at the point where they had been interrupted: “And after we reach home? Are you going to come and see me? Are you going to let me meet your friends, those dear people who are giving themselves to make life less hideous and harsh for the weak? Shall I meet Mr. Mifflin... and Mr. Miller and your little Socialist poet? Or are you going to desert me?”
He smiled a little at her way of putting it, but he was troubled none the less. “Are you sure that your way is our way? One can give service on the Hill just as much as down in the bottoms. There's no moral grandeur in rags or in dirt. Isn't your place with your friends?”
“Haven't I a right to take hold of life for myself at first hand? Haven't I a right to know the truth? What have I done that I should be walled off from all these people who earn the bread I eat?”
“But your friends... your father...”
Her ironic smile derided him. “So after all you haven't the courage of your convictions. Because I'm Peter C. Frome's daughter I'm not to have the right to live.”
“No, it's your right to take hold of life with both hands. But surely you must live it among your own people.”
“I've got to learn how to live it first, haven't I? Most of my friends are not even aware there a problem of poverty. They thrust the thought of it from them. Our wealthy class has no social consciousness. Take my father. He thinks the submerged are lost because they are thriftless and that all would be right if they wouldn't drink. To him they are just a waste product of civilization.
“But can you study the life of the people without growing discontented with the life you must lead?”
“There is a divine discontent, you know. I've got to see things for myself. Why should all my opinions, my faith, be given to me ready-made. Why must I live by a formula I have never examined? If it isn't true I want to know it. And if it is true I want to know it.” She had been looking straight before them toward the rising sun but now her gaze swept round on him. “Don't blame yourself for giving me new thoughts. I suppose all new ideas are likely to make trouble. But I've been working in this direction for years. Ever since I've been a little girl my heresies have puzzled my father. Meeting you has shown me a short cut. That's all.”
Something she had said recalled to him a fugitive memory.
“Do you know, I think I saw you once when you were a little bit of a thing?”
“Where?”
“On the doorstep of your old place. I was rather busy at the time fighting Edward Merrill.”
She stopped, looking at him in surprise. “Were you that boy?”
“I was that boy.”
“You fought him to help a little ragged girl. She was a foreigner.”
“I've forgotten why I fought him. The reason I remember the occasion is that I met then for the first time two of my friends.”
She claimed a place immediately. “Who was the other one?”
“Captain Chunn.”
Presently she bubbled into a little laugh. “How did the fight come out? My nurse dragged me into the house.”
“Don't remember. I know the school principal licked me next day. I had been playing hookey.”
They made another turn of the deck before she spoke again.
“So we're old acquaintances, and I didn't know it. That was nearly eighteen years ago. Isn't it strange that after so long we should meet again only last week?”
Jeff felt the blood creep into his face. “We met once before, Miss Frome.”
“Oh, on the street. I meant to speak.”
“So did I.”
“When?”
With his eyes meeting hers steadily Jeff told her of the time she had found him in the bushes and mistaken him for a sick man. He could see that he had struck her dumb. She looked at him and looked away again.
“Why do you tell me this?” she asked at last in a low voice.
“It's only fair you should know the truth about me.”
They tramped the circuit once more. Neither of them spoke. The trumpeter's bugle call to breakfast rang out.
At the bow she stopped and looked down at the waters they were furrowing. It was a long time before she raised her head and met his eyes. The color had whipped into her cheeks, but she put her question steadily.
“Are you telling me... that I must lose my friend?”
“Isn't that for you to say?”
“I don't know.” She faltered for words, but not the least in her intention. “Are you—what I have always heard you are?”
“Can you be a little more definite?” he asked gently.
“Well—dissipated! You're not that?”
“No. I've trodden down the appetite. I'm a total abstainer.”
“And you're not... those worse things that the papers say?”
“No.”
“I knew it.” Triumph rang in her voice. She breathed a generous trust. To know him for a true man it was necessary only to look into his fearless eyes set deep in the thin tanned face. It was impossible for anything unclean to survive with his humorous humility and his pervading sympathy and his love of truth. “I didn't care what they said. I knew it all the time.”
Her sweet faith was a thing to see with emotion. He felt tears scorch the back of his eyes.
“The thing you know is bad enough.”
“Oh, that! That is nothing... now. It doesn't matter.”
Lieutenant Beauchamp emerged from a saloon and bore down upon them.
“Mrs. Van Tyle has sent me to bring you to breakfast, Miss Frome. Mornin', Mr. Farnum.”
“And I'm ready for it, We've been round the deck ever so many times. Haven't we, Mr. Farnum?”
She nodded lightly to Jeff and walked away with the Englishman. The sunshine of her warm vitality was like quicksilver in Farnum's veins. What a gallant spirit, at once delicate and daring, dwelt in that vivid slender form! A snatch of Chesterton came to his mind:
Her face was like an open wordWhen brave men speak and choose,The very colors of her coatWere better than good news.“It is the hour of man: new purposes,Broad shouldered, press against the world's slow gate;And voices from the vast eternitiesPublish the soul's austere apostolate.Man bursts the chains that his own hands have made;Hurls down the blind, fierce gods that in blind yearsHe fashioned, and a power upon them laidTo bruise his heart and shake his soul with fears.”—Edwin Markham.
THE PILLARS OF SOCIETY ARE GIVEN AN ILLUSTRATION OF A ROORBACK
Rawson sat in the rotunda of the Pacific Hotel in desultory conversation with Captain Chunn, Hardy and Rogers. He brought his clenched hand down on the padded leather arm of the big chair.
“They'll jam it through to-morrow. That's what they'll do. James K. Farnum's been playing mighty pretty politics and he has got the votes to deliver the goods.”
Hardy nodded as he knocked the ash from his cigar. “Now that it's all over we can see James K.'s trail easily enough. He meant to defeat the initiative and referendum amendment, and he meant to do it without losing his popularity. He's done it too. Jeff's disappearance made it certain our bill wouldn't go through. James jumps in with a hurrah and passes one that isn't worth the powder to blow it up. But he's going to claim it as a great victory for the people—and if I know that young man he'll get away with his bluff. Yet it's certain as taxes that he's been working for Joe Powers all the time.”
“I wouldn't put it past him to have engineered some deal to get rid of his cousin,” Chunn suggested.
Rawson shook his head. “No. Not respectable enough for James. And he's not fool enough to run his head into a trap. But I'd bet my head Big Tim gave him a tip it was to be pulled off. J. K. had to know. Otherwise he wouldn't have been in a position to play the game for them. But he didn't know any details—just a suggestion. Enough to wise him without making him responsible.”
“And the play he's been making in the papers. Offering a reward for information about Jeff, insisting publicly that he has absolute confidence in his cousin's integrity while he shakes his head in private. If you want my opinion, that young man is a whited sepulchre. I never did believe in him.”
Rogers turned to Captain Chunn with an incredulous smile. “But you still believe in Jeff. Frankly, it looks to me like a double sell out.”
The old Confederate's eyes gleamed. “Sir, I've known that boy since he was a little tad. He's never told me a lie. He's square as they make them.”
“I used to believe in his cousin James, too,” Rogers commented.
“Oh, James! He's another proposition.” Rawson's voice was sour with disgust. “He just naturally looked to see where his bread was buttered. He's as selfish as the devil for all that suave, cordial way of his. Right from the first his idea has been to make a big personal hit. And he figured out he could do it easier with Joe Powers back of him than against him. James K. is the smoothest fraud on the Pacific Coast. But Jeff—why, every hair of his head is straight. He's one out of a million, believe me.”
“You've said it,” Chunn agreed.
Rogers smiled across at them. “He's left a lot of good friends behind him anyhow. But it's strange he could drop off the earth without a soul knowing about it.”
“The men who murdered him know about it,” Rawson answered significantly.
Captain Chunn shook his head. “No, that boy will turn up yet.”
“But not in time to save us. We're licked. There's not one chance in a million for us. That's the discouraging feature of it, to be sold out after we had won our fight.”
Rawson agreed with Hardy. “Yes, we're licked. Even if Jeff were to show up, with all these stories against him, we wouldn't be able to stem the tide now.”
“Mister Raw-w-son—Mister Raw-w-son.” The singsong voice of a bellhop echoed through the rotunda.
Captain Chunn's walking stick flagged the lad and brought him sliding across the polished floor.
“Telegram for Mr. Rawson.”
The big politician ripped it open and ran his eyes rapidly over the yellow slip. From his lips burst a sudden oath of surprise.
“By Jupiter, the miracle's happened. Jeff is alive and on his way here. He's sent me a wireless from out at sea somewhere.”
“What!” Captain Chunn let out a whoop of joy.
“Listen here.” Rawson read aloud his message. “'Shanghaied on schoonerNancy Hanks. Escaped at Honolulu. Back in Verden to-night. Keep up the fight.'”
“Didn't I say Jeff was alive? Didn't I say he would come back and beat those robbers yet?” the owner of theWorlddemanded.
“Don't get excited. It may be a fake.” This from Hardy, who was almost as much moved himself.
“Fake nothing! We'll go down to the telegraph office and make sure it's 0. K. Won't this make a bully story for theWorld'Shanghaied' in big letters across the top, and underneath a red hot roast of the old city hall gang's methods of trying to defeat the will of the people.” Rawson laughed aloud as his imagination pictured the story.
The old soldier's eyes gleamed. “I'll run twice as many copies as usual. We'll plaster the state with them, calling for mass meetings everywhere to insist on the legislature passing our bill.”
“Go easy, gentlemen,” advised Rogers. “If it's true we hold a trump card, but we want to play it mighty carefully so as to make it carry as much dynamite as possible.”
The company could give no information more definite than that the message had come from theBellingham,which was still a couple of hundred miles out at sea.
In view of the value of the news from a strategic slant his friends succeeded in keeping the lid on Captain Chunn's enthusiasm until the party was safe aboard a fast yacht steaming out of the harbor to meet theBellingham.The old Confederate's first impulse had been to run an extra immediately, but he was argued out of it.
“We don't want to go off half cocked. We've got a beautiful comeback if we play it right. That is, if Jeff's got any proof. But we better wait and let Jeff run the newspaper end of it, Captain.”
This was Hardy's view, and it was indorsed by the others.
“Another thing. This story has got to come just like an explosion on James K. Farnum's supporters. We've got to sweep them right back to our bill. Now if we break the force of it by giving them warning that swarm of lobbyists will get busy and stay busy all night,” Rawson added.
Jim Dunn, the star reporter of theWorld,was hurriedly summoned by telephone. Chunn explained to the city editor that Dunn and the staff photographer were needed to cover a big story, but of what the story was no mention was made to the office. As soon as Dunn and Quillen reached the wharf theFly by Nightshot out of the dock.
In the wintry afternoon sunlight Beauchamp and Alice were playing a match of shuffleboard against Jeff and the daughter of a Honolulu missionary. The game had reached an exciting and critical stage when they noticed that the ship was no longer quivering from the throb of the engines.
“A steam yacht, probably from Verden,” the ship purser remarked to the first mate as they passed.
The players gave up their game to watch the boat that was being lowered from the deck of a yacht close at hand. Into it stepped five men in addition to the crew. Presently Jeff, leaning against the rail, borrowed the glasses of a man near. After Alice had looked she handed them to Farnum.
He gave a little exclamation of surprise.
“I beg your pardon?” the girl beside him murmured.
“They are my friends, Miss Frome. Come to meet me, I expect. The little man in gray with one arm is Captain Chunn.”
She was all excitement at once. “Then they must have received your message?”
“Probably.”
Jeff was the first man to meet Captain Chunn as he walked up the steps. The gray little man gave a whoop of joy.
“David!”
Their hands gripped.
Rawson fell on Farnum from behind and pounded him jubilantly. Instantly the editor was the center of a group of eager, urgent wellwishers.
Alice explained to Captain Barclay what it was all about and stood back smiling while questions and answers flew back and forth.
“What about our bill?” Jeff inquired as soon as the first hubbub had quieted.
“Dead as a door nail. Your cousin has substituted H. B. I7. They will pass it to-morrow or the next day.”
A swift sickness ran through Farnum. “James gone back on us?”
“That's what. He's double-crossed us.” Rawson snapped the words out bitterly.
“Why—why—surely not James.” Jeff's mind groped for some possible
explanation.
“Says our bill was lost anyhow and it was a question of getting through Garman's bill or none.”
“But Garman's bill was framed by Ned Merrill. It doesn't give us anything.”
Rawson nodded grimly. “That's the idea. We're to get nothing, but it's to be wrapped up like a Christmas present so as to fool us.”
“And isn't there any chance at all for our bill?”
“Just this one chance.” Rawson leaned forward and spoke in a low voice, driving his hand down on the deck railing. “That you've got a charge of dynamite up your sleeve to throw into their camp. If you can't stampede them we're down and out.”
Jeff and his allies presently moved away together to hold a conference of ways and means. The boat crew pulled back to the yacht. The engines began to throb once more. TheBellinghamgathered momentum and was soon plunging forward at full speed.
With a queer little surge of pride in him Alice watched Jeff and his friends move away. They depended on him. Unless he could save it their fight was lost. To her he was a prophet of the better civilization that would some day rise on the ruins of an Individualism grown topheavy. But he was neither a dreamer nor a weakling. His idealism was sane and practical, and he would fight to the last ditch when he must.
And this was another strange thing about him, that though his democracy was a faith, vital and ardent, it was tempered with the liberal spirit. He could make allowances; held no grudges, would laugh away insults at which another man would have raged. Out of her very limited experience Alice decided that he was a great man. That he was so warm and human with it all was one of his seizing charms. No boy could have been more interested in winning the shuffleboard game than he.
The fat pork packer from Chicago came wheezing toward her. He took the steamer chair beside Alice and jerked his head toward the spot where Jeff had disappeared.
“Now if you want my notion, Miss Frome, that's the kind of a man that breeds anarchy. I've seen his paper. He fills it full of stuff that makes the workingman discontented with his lot. A trouble maker, that's what he is. Stops the wheels of industry. Gets in the road of the boosters to croak hard times.”
Alice observed the thick rolls of purple fat that bulged over his collar.
“Progress now,” he went on. “I'm for progress. Develop the country. That gives work to the laborers and keeps them contented. But men like Farnum are always hampering development by annoying capital. Now that's foolish because capital employs labor.”
The young woman suggested another possibility. “Or else labor employs capital.”
“What!” The fat little man sat bolt upright in surprise. “I guess you never heard your Uncle Joe Powers talk any such foolishness.” He snorted indignantly. “Hmp! The best friend labor has got is capital. If I had the say so I'd crush every labor union—for the good of the working people themselves.”
Alice decided that the mental indigestion of the rich sat heavily upon him. She felt her temper rising and took advantage of the approach of Beauchamp to leave quickly.
“Oh, Lieutenant! Have you seen Valencia?”
The Englishman showed surprise. It happened that Alice had at that moment a view of Mrs. Van Tyle stretched on a deck chair some thirty feet away.
Miss Frome hurried him along. Presently, with a low laugh, she explained. “I wanted to get away from him. Carelessly, I dropped a new idea there. It's likely to go off. You know how dangerous they are.”
“To people who haven't many. Had it anything to do with making money?”
“Not directly.”
“Then you needn't be alarmed on our stout friend's account. He's immune to all ideas not connected with that subject.”
The double blast of a trumpet invited them to dinner down stairs.
Dunn was sitting in the smoking room writing his story of the kidnapping when a ruddy young Englishman stopped opposite him.
“You're Mr. Dunn, are you not? Reporter for theWorld?”
“Yes.” The newspaper man looked him over with a swift, trained attention.
“A young lady would like to see you for a few minutes. She is interested in this shanghaing of Mr. Farnum.”
Dunn's black gimlet eyes searched Beauchamp's face.
“All right. Glad to see her.” Dunn's story was being transferred to his pocket as he rose.
He followed his guide to the ladies' writing room. A slender young woman was standing in front of the bookcase. She turned as they entered. Beauchamp introduced the reporter to her, but Dunn failed to catch the name of this rather remarkable looking young lady.
“You are to write the story of Mr. Farnum's adventure?” she asked.
The reporter's eyes narrowed very slightly. “What story?”
“The account of the shanghaing. Oh, I know all about it. Have you all the facts?”
“I'll be glad to hear what you know, Miss—”
She answered his hesitation by mentioning her name.
Dunn grew more wary. “Miss Alice Frome, daughter of Senator Frome?”
“Yes.”
“Anything you have to say I'll be pleased to hear, Miss Frome.”
To his surprise she broke through the hedge of reserve he had withdrawn behind.
“You distrust me. You think because I'm Senator Frome's daughter that I must be against Mr. Farnum. Is that it?”
“I didn't say that,” he sparred.
“I'm not against him. It's because I'm anxious to see him win that I want to be sure he has given you the whole story.”
“Why shouldn't he give me the whole story?”
“Because he isn't the kind to boast. Did he tell you about the sharks?”
“Or how Miss Frome helped pull him aboard just in time to save him from the crimps?”
The reporter's eyes gleamed. “What's that?” he snapped quickly.
“And all about the race from the schooner to theBellingham,It was the most exciting thing I ever saw.”
“Great guns! What's the matter with Jeff Farnum? He didn't say a word about that—missed the cream of the story.”
Alice smiled. “I thought perhaps he might have.”
“He said he saw a chance to swim across to theBellingham.That made a pretty good story. But sharks—and the shanghaiers chasing him—and a young lady helping to haul him aboard to safety—and that young lady Miss Alice Frome! Say, this is the biggest story that ever broke in Verden. If I fall down on it I'm a dead one sure enough.”
“You think it will help Mr. Farnum's fight for his bill?”
“Help it. Say, I'd give fifty dollars to see James K. Farnum's face when he reads theWorldtomorrow morning. The town will go right up in the air. Hundreds of telegrams are going to pour in to members of the assembly from their constituents. We'll make a Yale finish of this yet.”
“It's lucky Miss Frome recognized Mr. Farnum. Otherwise I suppose he would have been sent back to theNancy Hanks.”
“Oh, Miss Frome recognized him? Jeff said one of the passengers did. He couldn't remember who.”
“I don't suppose my name is necessary to the story. Just say a young woman on board,” Alice suggested.
Dunn's black eyes questioned her. “Are you for us, Miss Frome?”
She smiled. “I'm for you.”
“Against Senator Frome and Mr. Powers?”
“I think the bill ought to be passed. I'm not against anybody.”
“Well, I'll tell you this. It will help the story a lot to have you in it. Some people might say we framed the whole thing up. But with Senator Frome's daughter starring in it.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Farnum's the star.”
“Well, you're the leading lady. Don't you see how it helps? Clinches the whole thing as genuine. It's as good as putting the Senator himself on the stand as a witness for us. We've just got to have you.”
“It will really help, you think?”
“No question.”
“Very well.”
“And photographs. You'll stand for one, of course.”
“Now really I don't see.”
“They can't get back of a photograph. It carries conviction. Of course we've got pictures of you at the office, Miss Frome. But I want to play fair with you. Besides, I want them to show the ship setting.”
She laughed. “Don't worry. Your enterprising photographer caught me twice before I knew it. And he got one of my cousin, Mrs. Van Tyle. She doesn't know it, though.”
“Good boy, Quillen. Now, if you'll begin at the beginning, Miss Frome, I'll listen to your story.”
When she had finished his eyes were gleaming. “It's the biggest scoop I ever got in on. Sounds too good to be true.”
At Gillam's Point Jeff and his friends, with Dunn and Quillen, left theBellinghamon the launch which brought the pilot. They caught the fast express a half hour later and reached Verden shortly after midnight. His hat drawn down over his eyes and muffled to the ears in an ulster so that he might not be recognized, Farnum took a cab with Captain Chunn, Dunn and Quillen for the office of the World. He slipped into the building and his private room unnoticed by any member of the staff.
Dunn presently brought to him Jenkins, the make-up man.
“Rip your front page to pieces. We've got the story of a life time,” Captain Chunn exploded.
Jenkins opened his eyes and grinned at Jeff. “That's what Jim tells me. Have you got the proof to hang the thing on Big Tim?”
“I've got a letter he wrote to Captain Green of theNancy Hanks. It's on city hall stationery of the last administration.”
“Funny he used that paper.”
“Someone usually makes a slip in putting a deal of this kind through.”
“And the letter?”
“Just a line, signed with O'Brien's initials. 'The terms agreed on are satisfactory.' I found the letter in Green's cabin. As I thought I might make use of it I helped myself.”
“Bully! We'll run a fac-simile of it on the front page.”
“Dunn's story covers the whole affair. I don't like some features of it, but our friends say it ought to be run as it stands. I've written three columns of editorial stuff dealing with the situation. And here's a story calling for a mass meeting in front of the State House to-morrow morning.”
“You'll speak to the people?”
“I'll say a few words. Hardy and Rawson will be the speakers.”
“Pity we've lost your cousin. He'd stir them up.”
The muscles stood out on Jeff's lean jaw. James was a subject he could not yet discuss. “We're nailing the No Compromise flag to our masthead, Jenkins. We've got to prevent them from forcing through Garman's bill to-morrow. After that every day will be in our favor. Unless I'm mistaken the state will waken up as it never has before. The people will see how nearly they've been euchred out of what they want.”
Jenkins came bluntly to another point. “This story would carry a lot more weight if those charges made against your character by the other papers had been answered.”
“Then we'll answer them.”
The night editor looked at him dubiously. “They've got four affidavits to back their story.”
“Only four?” A gay smile was dancing in Jeff's eyes.
“Both theHeraldand theAdvocatehave been playing it strong. Every day they rehash the story and challenge a denial.”
“It will all be free advertising for us if we can make them eat crow.”
“If we can!” Jenkins did not see how any effective answer was possible and he knew that in the present state of public opinion an unsupported bluff would be fatal.
“How would this do for a starter?”
Jeff handed him two typewritten sheets. The night editor read them through. He looked straight at Jeff.
“Can you back this up?”
“I can.”
“But—what about those affidavits?”
Farnum grinned. “We'll take care of them when we come to them.”
“It's your funeral,” Jenkins admitted.
The whole front page of theWorldnext morning was filled with the Farnum story. As part of it there were interviews with Alice Frome, with Captain Barclay, and with other passengers. The deadly note from O'Brien to Green of theNancy Hanksoccupied the place usually held by the cartoon. Beneath it, exactly in the center of the page, was a leaded box with the caption “A Challenge.” It ran as follows:
The editor of theWorlddoes not think his reputation important enough to protect it at the expense of a woman. Yet he denies absolutely the import of the charges made by theHeraldand theAdvocate.That the matter may be forever set at rest theWorldchallenges the papers named to a searching investigation. It proposes:
(1) That the names of five representative citizens of Verden be submitted to Governor Hawley by each of the three papers, and that from this number be select a committee of five to sift thoroughly the allegations;
(2) That the meetings of the committee be held in secret, no members of the press being admitted, and that those composing it pledge themselves never to divulge the names of any witnesses who may appear to give evidence;
(3) That theHerald,theAdvocate,and theWorldseverally agree to print on the front page for a week the findings of the committee as soon as received and exactly as received, without any editorial or other comment whatsoever.
By the decision of this committee Jefferson Farnum pledges himself to abide. If found guilty, he will at once resign from the editorial charge of theWorldand will leave Verden forever.
The practical man is the man who knows what can't be done.When he begins to let hope take the place of information inthis regard, he becomes a conservative. When prejudice takesthe place of hope, the mere conservative graduates into atory, or a justice of the supreme court. It's all a matterof the chemistry of substitution.—Dr. G.L. Knapp.
THE SAFE MAN FURNISHES DIVERSION
For once the machine had overplayed its hand. Caught unexpectedly by Jeff's return, no effective counter attack was possible. Dunn's story in theWorldswept the city and the state like wildfire. It was a crouched dramatic narrative and its effect was telling. From it only one inference could be drawn. The big corporations, driven to the wall, had attempted a desperate coup to save the day. It was all very well for Big Tim to file a libel suit. The mind of the public was made up.
The mass meeting at the State House drew an enormous crowd, one so great that overflow meetings had to be held. Every corridor in the building was full of excited jostling people. They poured into the gallery of the Senate room and packed the rear of the floor itself. Against such a demonstration the upper house did not dare pass the Garman bill immediately. It was held over for a few days to give the public emotion a chance to die. Instead, the resentment against machine and corporate domination grew more bitter. Stinging resolutions from the back counties were wired to members who had backslidden. Committees of prominent citizens from up state and across the mountains arrived at Verden for heart-to-heart talks with the assemblymen from their districts.
At a hurried meeting of the managers of the public utilities companies it was decided that the challenge of theWorldmust be accepted. For many who had believed in the total depravity of Jefferson Farnum were beginning to doubt. Unless the man's character could be impeached successfully the day was lost. And with four witnesses against him how could the trouble maker escape?
The committee of investigation consisted of Senator Frome; Clinton Rogers, the shipbuilder; Thomas Elliott, a law partner of Hardy; James Moran, a wholesale wheat shipper, and the leading clergyman of Verden. It sat behind locked doors, adjourning from one office to another to obtain secrecy.
For the defense appeared as witnesses Marchant, Miller, Mrs. Anderson and Nellie. To doubt the truth of the young wife's story was impossible. The agony of shyness and shame that flushed her, the simple broken words of her little tragedy, bore the stamp of minted gold. It was plain to see that she was a victim of betrayal, being slowly won back to love of life by her husband and her child.
The committee in its report told the facts briefly without giving names. Even P. C. Frome could find no excuse for not signing it.
The effect was instantaneous. On this one throw the machine had staked everything. That it had lost was now plain. In a day Jeff was the hero of Verden, of the state at large. His long fight for reform, the dramatic features of the shanghaing and his return, the collapse of the charges against his character, all contributed to lift him to dizzy popularity. He was the very much embarrassed man of the hour.
All the power of the Transcontinental, of the old city hall gang, of the money that had been spent to corrupt the legislature, was unable to roll back the tide of public determination. White-faced assemblymen sneaked into offices at midnight to return the bribe money for which they dared not deliver the goods. Two days after the report of the investigating committee Jeff's bill passed the Senate. Within three hours it was signed by Governor Hawley. That it would be ratified by a vote of the people and so become a part of the state constitution was a foregone conclusion.
Jeff and his friends had forged the first of the tools they needed to rescue the government of the state from the control of the allied plunderers.
In the days following her return to Verden Alice Frome devoured the newspapers as she never had before. They were full of the dramatic struggle between Jeff Farnum and the forces which hitherto had controlled the city and state. To her the battle was personal. It centered on the attacks made upon the character of her friend and his pledge to refute them.
When she read in theAdvocatethe report of the committee Alice wept. It was like her friend, she thought, to risk his reputation for some poor lost wanderer of the streets. Another man might have done it for the girl he loved or for the woman he had married. But with Jeff it would be for one of the least of these. There flashed into her mind an old Indian proverb she had read. “I met a hundred men on the road to Delhi, and they were all my brothers.” Yes! None were too deep sunk in the mire to be brothers and sisters to Jeff Farnum.
Ever since her return Alice had known herself in disgrace with her father and that small set in which she moved. Her part in the bigWorldstory had been “most regrettable.” It was felt that in letting her name be mentioned beside that of one who was a thoroughly disreputable vagabond she had compromised her exclusiveness and betrayed the cause of her class. Her friends recalled that Alice had always been a queer girl.
Her father and Ned Merrill agreed over a little luncheon at the Verden Club that girls were likely to lose themselves in sentimental foolishness and that the best way to stop such nonsense was for one to get married to a safe man. Pending this desirable issue she ought to be diverted by pleasant amusements.
The safe man offered to supply these.